


Bottomless Paranoia, Silent Catharsis

by crowdedmasks (emptymasks)



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Cock Warming, Crying, Doll Coming To Life, Dolls, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, Making Out, One Shot, Possessive Behavior, Riding, Self-Hatred, Vaginal Sex, all of its from erik, basically as much as i hate the yandere trope... the mannuquin is a yandere, erik is into it but also can't run away so, human/non-human - Freeform, i cannot stress that this is erik fucking the mannequin and not christine, mention of hypothetical pregnancy, so much crying, so turn back now if that's not what you want, spooky halloween fic, surprisingly not from erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptymasks/pseuds/crowdedmasks
Summary: "Be still, so I do not hurt you. I'm afraid I may startle you, but you should have no fear of me..."The body swung a little violently to the side, as if it had over-estimated the amount of force it would need to sit up, and it rocked back and forth for a moment before going completely still. The mannequin, it... she... Christine?"You did make me after all."
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Mannequin, Erik/Mannequin, Mannequin/Erik, Mannuquin/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 15
Kudos: 22





	Bottomless Paranoia, Silent Catharsis

The wretched little mix!

Hadn't he been good to her? Kind to her? He'd carefully made rooms for her and ensured she'd be nothing but comfortable. He'd never once tried to force himself on her and yet she had trembled in her sweet victome's arms as she bemoaned and wept, oh how frightened she had been of him. 'Horror!' Christine had cried 'Horror! Horror!' and clasped her dainty hands to the boy's as they shook under the sorrowful stars.

Yes, truly what could have been more frightening than poor Erik!

He had stood, nestled beside Apollo's calves, and watched as they had professed their love for one another. Stood, nails scrapping against bronze, as his little angel had recounted their every interaction and told her sweetheart how she had lied and lied and _lied_ to Erik.

Such a good little liar she was then, such so that the tiny morsel of hope flared in Erik and wondered if she even lied now. How her precious heart could want to spare the boy's feelings. But why then reveal all their secrets?! He supposed it did not matter, he did not have to worry if the boy would tell. No one would believe him anyway. Erik didn't even need to bother himself with killing him for his silence when his silence would be the only thing keeping his brother from having him sanctioned.

He had begged himself to turn his head away as they kissed, but found he could not. And as they turned to flee, they froze in place. Their pale eyes wide and gazing up at him as the sky grew even darker still, clouds thundering their way towards them as their eyes filled with dread and they ran back inside the opera house.

As their frantic footsteps echoed away from him, Erik slunk down at Apollo's feet and began to weep. Had he really been that much of a fool? To believe that Christine could be so different than any other? To believe that she could see past his curse and recognise eternally burning love that was the mere composition of his insides.

Jumping down from his perch, he made not to follow them, but to crawl done to the passageway only he knew and trudged dejectedly through darkness. His anger only built up more as he thrust the oar wildly into the lake leading to his abode. It was a wonder he didn't capsize the small vessel.

Once inside his bony fingers reached for his mask and threw it across the room, the wig flying along with it. He cursed and spat and tore at the fake flowers and drapes before sagging against the wall with a sob.

His eyes dared to wander over to the doorway to Christine's room, It still soot ajar and he was drawn over to it as if under a spell, a his heart gave a start as he saw a shape on the bed.

For a moment he'd forgotten that he'd left the mannequin there.

Rich blue sheets draped over the mahogany bedspread. Erik had picked the colours so that they would bring out Christine's eyes.

And oh he'd been right, hadn't he?

He reached down to brush a hand through the brown locks and gaze at the placid, glass eyes. Such a vibrant blue. And how they gazed at him with such adoration. No, these eyes would never turn from him in horror. They would gaze at him until the end of his days. Never would they simply stare as they cried inside their mind at what horror lay before him. No this Christine would never betray him! Unlike her!

Erik grasped the mannequin by the shoulders as he shot back, pulling it along with him. The porcelain legs waded through the bed sheets until one slid partly off the bed, calf frozen in the air from where it was twisted against the ball joint at the knee, the elastic inside pulling too tight. Her head hung backwards and turned to the side. Even she could not bare to look at him after all!

"Damn you," Erik hissed, breath hot across the taut flesh of his mouth. "My little angel, my little _lair._ And who do you lie to Christine? Me or your precious young would-be lover. You weep in his arms as you wept in mine. Do you play him or me? Perhaps you play us both. Is that what you want? Do you want us to fight over you? I shall surely win, of that have no doubt. Is that what we will fight over? The whimsy of a whore?!"

He threw the mannequin down the bed and watched as it bounced. Damn her. _Damn her_. How could she? She'd been so perfect. Always so perfect. Couldn't she have truly gotten away if she'd really wanted to? She had refused to say she hated him when the boy had asked. In fact she had said that she didn't.

"Oh, Christine. Forgive me," His words as gentle as a lullaby as he stroked along her leg, gripping and twisting it back into place. "You did not mean such words, did you? You were simply telling that boy what he wanted to hear? My angel, my perfect, sweet little Angel. My 'little Lotte'. Erik is sorry."

Yes Christine was perfect. And that's what he'd captured wasn't it, perfection.

"My love, let Erik make it up to you. Erik didn't mean to hurt you, Erik would never," He flung a hand over his heart and clutched as her white skirts as fell to his knees. "Perhaps... Perhaps you could permit Erik to keep you company? It may not be proper for a man to sleep beside a women before they are officially married, but I wish, I need for you to know that you are safe with me, and I... My love..."

Tears clouded Erik's vision, and his head pounded and his hands shook, as he crawled up onto the bed. He turned her head towards him and let her look at him, unflinchingly.

"Erik worries it is wrong but... I want to hold you. Perhaps just for a little while, and then I will leave you and retire to my own room. Perhaps it could make you feel better as well?" Christine made no sound of protest. "Wonderful, oh you are too kind to poor Erik. Let me help you relax."

Clearly tired after such a long day, Christine was seemingly boneless as Erik laid her back against the pillows. He took off his shoes, jacket and waistcoat, and made a show of folding them delicately, placing them on the sofa, and then standing up tall and straight. Gently, as so not to disturb her already peaceful form, he drew himself up along her side, before sliding his head down and pressing it against her breast.

He would just rest for a moment. He could stay until Christine was sound asleep, watching over her like a guardian angel, and then slink back off to his coffin. This bed was for her, he did not deserve such plush things.

Yes, he would lay here for... just a moment...

The next thing he knew he was instinctively picking the crusting sleep from the corner of his eyes. Oh lord, he had fallen asleep. He should have known that he would. Erik contemplated laying there for a moment longer, the mattress much thicker padding than what he was used to in his coffin...

But this was Christine's room. And he had already so imposed himself here far too long.

He opened his eyes to search for the clock on the wall, knowing he'd be unable to tell what time it was without it as there were no windows in his home, no possibility for them even. But... he couldn't it. It was there, he could here it. But he couldn't see it. In fact he couldn't see anything.

As he blinked again and again, thankful that his eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, he was confused. He had had no intention of actually sleeping here, and so he had left the lamps on. He knew he hadn't turned them off.

And yet the room was in total darkness.

The fog of sleep started to evaporate from his mind as he became aware that while he supposed it wasn't usual for one to move and roll over in their sleep when one had the room to do so (such a feat was not possible in the coffin, and no doubt Erik had tried and caused bruises to form by the morning in his efforts), he wasn't sure if he would have grabbed anything.

When he had dozed, he's been resting atop the mannequin, one arm tucked under himself and the other outstretched across her waist. _It's_ waist. Erik cursed himself as he recalled how he had acted with it before. Just as he did after every time he interacted with it. So he would have expected the mannequin to still be to the right of him, laying where he had left it... but it was resting on top of him.

It wasn't the lightest thing, but then Erik supposed a real person wouldn't be the lightest thing either. But it didn't feel like it was merely resting against him, it... strangely it felt like it was pressing him down. As if it were trying to pin him to the bed.

A ridiculous thought, of course. Perhaps he had just never realised the weight of it, or it simply seemed heavier as he was still tired. Yes, he was simply just dazed from sleep. A heavy sigh dragged through his teeth and he made to slide himself up to his elbows and get up, intending for the mannequin to simply slide off him.

But as he made to move his arm, something tugged at his wrist. Glancing down with his cat-like eyes he could make out how one of the mannequin's arms coiled down at it's side, wandering towards Erik's left hand.

Fingers. Somehow it's cold fingers had wrapped themselves neatly around Erik's wrist. He... Could he have done that in his sleep? He'd heard tales of sleepwalkers so... maybe... if he'd been restless enough and dreaming about Christine perhaps he could have positioned it that way himself?

What was thinking? Of course that's what had to have happened. What other option was there? The, the... _thing_ wasn't alive. Either Erik had done it or... or someone had broken in, whether some odd thief or even Christine! Yes, she could be playing some awful trick on him, trying to make him think he was mad. Or a kind trick even! Was she showing her feelings for him that she could not express in words by positioning her likeness in the way she wanted to touch him!

He made to sit up once more, needing to search the other rooms for any sign of an intruder. But he couldn't move. Of he could, but as he made to sit up, the air was knocked out of him as a hard, solid chest smacked against his own, porcelain nipples pin-pricking his skin. Something twinkled in his ear, like a quiet giggle but he felt no breath from this ghost of a voice.

"Oh, my dear, you're finally awake."

This was a dream. That was it. That was his explanation. Because Christine was not here. Christine would not call him 'dear' and sound so thrilled to see him.

And yet that sweet voice did not echo in his head, but danced in his ears as if it was actually in the room with him.

"Be still, so I do not hurt you. I'm afraid I may startle you, but you should have no fear of me..."

Her voice made no sense. Why should he ever have fear of Christine? Was this some sort of game? As he tried to wrack his brain for answers, for some sort of rational explanation that Christine was somehow in the room or perhaps he was seeing things wrong and she herself had replaced the mannequin and she'd come back and realised her mistake in leaving him for that silly little boy.

His thoughts came to a stop as the mass on top of him moved.

Something squeaked, like a metal fork scraping against a china plate, as knees and elbows unlocked and locked themselves and the weight on his chest lessened. He felt the hand around his wrist press down as the other came up, fingers poised in a dainty position, fingertips resting against the base of a collarbone.

And Erik could see the slits between each and every knuckle. He spent so much time carving every single one to perfection and checking and double, triple-checking how they looked when compared to Christine's own as she slept through the other side of the mirror. Tools working down to form each and every fingernail. Carving out each channel inside for the elastic to pass through and metal hooks to fit snugly inside.

The body swung a little violently to the side, as if it had over-estimated the amount of force it would need to sit up, and it rocked back and forth for a moment before going completely still. The mannequin, it... she... _Christine?_

"You did make me after all."

"I..." Erik tried to speak but his mouth was dry.

"Oh see, I so hoped you wouldn't be afraid."

"Erik is not afraid." Even as he said it his hands began to tremble ever so slightly. What was this witchcraft? Some curse, some devil sent to tempt him? "What are you?"

The mannequin's face could not change expression but he watched as it recoiled. "My dear, how could you not know me? I'm your Christine."

"You are not _my_ _Christine_ ," He hissed and fought to raise himself but the mannequin had strength that seemed inhumanly possible. It's hard skin pressing into Erik with such force he though his thin bones could break. "You're some illusion, or I'm going mad."

"Mad?" Its head tiled back and mouth opened as a laugh came out but the painted lips could not upturn. "When haven't you been mad, dear?"

Erik couldn't think of what to say. What other sort of conclusion could be drawn from this. If he for a moment thought this was real, would his mind shatter? And then wouldn't he be being unfaithful to Christine?

"Oh, Christine," Erik wanted to weep.

"Chrisitne, _Christine,_ " It parroted back. "All you do is weep our name, and yet only think of her. Do you not spare a thought for me? The time you spent birthing me, carefully taking care of me. And then what? What will you do with me, Erik?"

Oh he couldn't cope with how it said its name. It spoke to him so sweetly with Christine's voice and he wanted to weep even more. Was this torment or pleasure? Being able to hear Christine call him such sweet names. But then he looked in its eyes and all he saw was his own refection.

"Answer me," Its voice was sharp and cold, but twisted into something sweet. "Won't you tell me? You can be honest with me, darling."

Its hand moved from its chest to place against Erik's own, fingers catching and bending awkwardly as it tried to drag them up Erik's shirt.

"Do not see me as some monster. I am gift, my love. My master. Do you not deserve one? You work so hard, and I'm the only one who sees it. The only one who truly sees you! I appreciate your genius, I am proof of it. I am offering to give you everything she cannot." The mannequin jerked in small motions, as if it was trembling. Wanting to sob or holding back rage, he could not tell which.

He thought perhaps it was rage after all when he again did not respond. But he could not! What could Erik possibly say? She used Christine's voice and mannerisms to praise him, but unlike his Christine who had said it was all lies once his back was turned, this one couldn't possible have any reason to lie at all... could she?

She? _It._ Erik didn't know anymore.

"Do you doubt me? Do you doubt my absolutely love and devotion to you? You who are all I have known?" Her voice changed tone so very quickly. "I will prove it to you then."

Her elbow pressed down beside his head, sinking into the pillows, the other still firmly around this wrist as though she was scared he would run. Erik was more scared that about the fact that he didn't know if he wanted to run.

Rose madder and zinc white. Those were the pigments he had used to paint her lips that delicate pink. The lines that struck down from the corners of her mouth and continued under her chin seemed so much bolder when she was this close to his face. He focused on them until his eyes crossed and hurt and then the firm, unmoving porcelain was against his own lacking lips. If you could even say he had lips.

She opened her mouth against him, inviting him to deepen the kiss in the only way she could, as she mouthed at his skin, jaw going slack and then moving closed again. She made a noise of dissatisfaction and oh how Erik couldn't even kiss her right.

"Don't you want me, Erik?" Christine's voice trembled and his heart clenched at the sound. His sweet girl wanted him to kiss her! She wanted his revolting mouth on her perfect flesh. "It's alright, trust me. Let me give you what you deserve."

The words were so soft that Erik's eyes became wet again as she mouthed at his jaw, then back up to his mouth. Her skin was cold and hard, but smooth and silky.

"Open your mouth and enter mine," She said it so softly and yet Erik still felt it to be an instruction. And oh he didn't want to disappoint her. He couldn't bear the thought. So he gave in and allowed his tongue to dip into the rubber inside of her mouth.

As his tongue probed around, the inside of her mouth gradually became slick with his saliva and as her body rocked against his it soon began to speed out of her open mouth as Erik kissed her with a sudden frenzy, spit soon coating both their chins.

A string of spit connected their mouths together as she pulled back until it broke and dropped against Erik's collar. And oh as she pulled back Erik opened his eyes to see her open and staring brazenly at him, as they had been through the entire kiss. The realisation of it made him suddenly sink back against the bed, as if he could have burrowed himself through it to escape.

"What's wrong?" She cocked her head to the side.

Everything. Everything was wrong. Oh Christine, forgive poor Erik. He muttered and moaned, not realising that the whispers were started to bounce around the room.

"You're thinking about _her,_ " The mannequin's voice was flat and emotionless, and for a second Erik thought she was going to get up and leave, or just crumple to a heap on the floor.

But she did neither of those things. She scooted back, the sheets pulling themselves with her as they got trapped inside her knee socket. Her hands fumbled with the opening to Erik's trousers, tiling her head and huffing when she realised that was the only fabric that was a barrier between them. And then Erik almost squealed as the cold hand pressed itself against his cock.

"You... don't..." Erik choked on his words as he clawed his blunt nails against mannequin's skirts.

"You're thinking of her. You needn't," Her words were rushed as she pushed his trousers down as much as she could so his cock was exposed to the darkness. "I'm the one doing this to you, I'm the one giving you pleasure. Pleasures that she refuses to give you."

She stroked his cock as carefully as she could, and while Erik felt himself submitting to her touch, he could feel the ridges of where each piece of her ended and as he thought about how terrible it would be for one to catch on the sensitive skin of his cock. His face flushed with shame as he twitched in her hand and could see how it now glistened.

"See," She said in wonder. "You do want me."

Tearing at her skirts with pawing hands she impatiently found the edge of the layers upon layers of white satin and lace and hoisted them up around her waist. Erik's trailed over where the porcelain stopped and the rubber started and ran between her legs. And he knew all too well what laid inside there.

He'd spent days, weeks even, agonising over whether to build her completely anatomically correct. It was only right, he agreed in the end, it was only fair that she be as lifelike as possible as he did not want her to be offensive to Christine (not that he wanted Christine to know of her existence). But he had known those perverse thoughts lingered in the back of his mind, far too impure for Christine.

And after all this time he'd been too cowardly to do any more than rub against those rubber lips. Any time he would think about entering her he could see her sneer at him, at the very thought of his seed pouring inside of her, and he yet he would still rut against her like a dog and come over her.

She lowered herself against him, not allowing him to enter her yet. Rocking her hips, she slid against his length and moaned as if she could feel it. Could she? Erik didn't know but he still could not stop himself from listening in wonder to his angel's beautiful voice making such noises. This new dazzling sound that was just for him, that no one had ever heard save the dust of her bedroom.

The skirts had begun to hang down like a curtain separating him from seeing her most precious part from him, but he would not complain. She was already doing so much for him. The room was full of only his heavy breathing, but she would draw out a quiet note with every other rock of her hips.

Erik groaned as she lifted her skirts up once more, skirts Erik had spent so much time sewing into the perfect bridal gown, and he gasped and bit his tongue as he saw how she had slicked herself with him.

"See, my love. See how wet I am for you? Only for you. No one else could ever cause such a reaction in me. Don't you see? I was made for you."

"Made for me..." Erik stared at the white fabric pooling around them and grabbed fistfuls of it. Wasn't this what he had wanted?

"Let me give this to you. Let me be the first, my love. You have taught so much, let me teach you something."

She raised herself up onto her knees and rubbed herself against him until his cock caught against her entrance.

"I must confess, my love, I was impatient. I do hope you'll forgive me. But I wanted this to be special and enjoyable for you, so I did prepare myself a little while you were sleeping." She dipped a finger inside herself and sure enough it came out dripping.

Erik bit down on a moan at the thought of her laying there on top of his sleeping body, so desperate for him that she had to get herself ready so he could take her the moment be awoke.

"Erik forgives you," His voice was hoarse but it made her bounce up for a moment as if trying to smile with her body. "Erik could never be mad at you."

"I'll never give you a reason to be. I'll always do what you say, and you'll always be my master. My angel, my husband, oh!" She let the tip of Erik's cock dip inside her and held herself there as she slowly moved her head down so she could stare into his eyes. "Won't you show your bride how much you love her?"

Something in Erik finally snapped and his hands grabbed at her hips and pulled her down the rest of the way onto his cock. She squealed and laughed as if she could feel no pain, and while Erik had not done this before he knew enough about what should be done.

Slowly, as he didn't want to hurt her, he raised her up until the tip of his cock was all that was inside her once more, and then lowered her back down. She seemed to find a rhythm all on her own, but moaned louder whenever Erik used his own force to bring her back down onto him.

"Is this... Is this pleasurable for you?"

"Oh my sweet Erik, anything that feels good to you feels good to me. You won't hurt me, although there is one thing you could do for me."

 _Anything, anything._ Erik felt as though if she were to tell him to die right there he would do it for her and smile.

"Won't you call out my name?"

Erik shuddered as he thrust his hips up in time with pulling her down, grinding his body against her and the bed. " _Christine."_

"Yes," She cried and flung her head back, "Again."

"Christine, oh Christine, my angel. You're being so good for your Erik."

"And I'll always be good to you Erik. You don't need her. You don't need anyone else. Let me be all that you need."

Erik could feel his shirt sticking to his skin, thick and shiny with sweat, as his thrusts became more frantic. He could feel the pressure building inside him and perhaps it was all too quickly but Christine felt so good around him and she was here and telling him that he, Erik, was making her feel good too! It was just all so much.

He could feel tears running down his face and he knew how he must have looked even more monstrous than usual, but Christine still gazed down at him, her expression never changing, no disgust ever entering her face.

"You're close, my love. You want to finish inside me, don't you?"

And he did, oh he did. How many times had he imagined what it would be like to fill Christine up with his seed. How she would become shy once they were done and it would run down her thighs but he would scoop it back up and press it back inside of her, and keeping his fingers there as she drifted off to sleep. Once or twice he had even imagined what it would be like to not pull out of her at all after coming, just carefully laying them both down on their sides, he behind her holding her close and keeping her safe, as his cock softened still he would not pull out. How her belly would eventually start to swell and he would kneel before her and stroke her taught skin and kiss it and cry.

"Erik!" Christine moaned and Erik felt himself finally push over that edge and he grabbed her so forcefully and pulled her down onto him a couple more times that her upper torso fell back at an awkward angle, popping off from where it should be perched against her stomach piece, and her arms and head flopped back like a rag doll and bounced as he thrust once. Twice. And then his arms fell limp at his sides.

He felt exhausted and he sobbed Christine's name repeatedly as she righted herself and brushed her hands over his head.

"Sleep," Christine bent forwards and kissed Erik's forehead as he felt Hypnos' arms around him, pulling him back into a slumber.

When he awoke the oil lamps were back on and he could see that clock said it was eight, in the morning he presumed as he doubted he would have slept for more than half an entire day. There was no pressure on his chest, no hand curled around his waist, and so he turned and saw the mannequin laying down where he had placed her before their... bizarre encounter.

Exactly where he had left her...

Of course. He could rejoice then. It had been an extremely vivid dream, but perhaps his mind confusing and mixing both horror and pleasure could be explained by his want for Christine and yet his pain at hearing what she had said last night.

He tried to push her words from his mind. She would return. He would make sure of that.

Pulling himself from the bed, wincing at unfamiliar pains in his thighs and waist. He wanted to check to see if he had bruises where the porcelain had slammed down against him over and over and over. But when he caught sight of his fingers trembling he snarled. And when he turned back to look at the mannequin he thought he could see glimmers of wetness between its fingers. He froze for a moment, before stalking out of the room, his eye catching briefly on the small calendar hung on the wall of the drawing room and he chuckled to himself.

Of course, perhaps even monsters themselves were haunted on All Hallow's Eve.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to a bunch of people on Discord for encouraging me to write this.
> 
> Maybe this makes sense, maybe it doesn't. It's just a spooky silly Halloween fic. It's also my first time writing m/f sex so I hope it seems okay. Boy I kept procrastinating so much while writing this (even writing this right now instead of finishing the fic) because I just keep worrying I won't write it well and thus convincing myself I shouldn't even try. But I guess if you're reading then then hey I got it done. I tried to show how Erik's mind is shifting and what he's believing and how into it he is in the moment by whether he is referring to the mannequin as 'it', 'she' or finally giving in and calling her 'Christine'.
> 
> And finally, my time spent drooling over Japanese ball-jointed-dolls years and years ago has payed off as I still know how they're made and how they're put together and have even partially strung one myself before. I don't think 16 year old me could have ever thought this was what I would do with that information though.
> 
> If you liked this and want more Erik/Mannequin smut then I would highly recommend [Bread and Oil by catcorsair](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200780) which helped me a lot in overcoming trying to write the sex scene portion of this fic.
> 
> This hasn't been proof because _uhhhhhhhhhh_
> 
> Title are lyrics from 'Doll' by BUCK-TICK. Because once again I find another BUCK-TICK song who's lyrics just scream Erik to me. (The others being 'Phantom Voltaire' and 'darker than darkness' / 'DTD')


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